sneeshin’-mull, and it dropped inside my skull. Up came the doctor, and, without thinking of the mull, he clapped the skull together and trepanned it; the wound soon healed, but sometimes I feel a little queer in the head.” No wonder that he did, considering that he believed that there was a ram’s-horn in the place where his brains should have been. The delusion had originated from a sunstroke which he received in India, and which would have killed any other man than Hyderabad. It is worthy of remark that, though he was universally known as Hyderabad, few ever ventured to address him by that sobriquet; it was dangerous to take liberties with one whose pikestaff was ever ready to punish any impertinence. We can only recal one occasion when James was thus addressed. He was walking with stately gait through a country fair, when a young urchin, set on by his older companions, walked up to him, and said in his most winning way, “How d’ye do, Old Hyderabad?” Had the earth yawned beneath James’s feet he could not have looked more surprised than he did on hearing these ominous words; here was an urchin who barely reached his knee addressing him familiarly by that name which the boldest never ventured to mention in his presence. It was like a mouse insulting a lion, but what could he do? He was too tender-hearted to touch a child, but such liberties must be repressed, so he flourished his pikestaff in the air and gave a yell such as a savage gives when he despatches his foe. Years have elapsed since James uttered that yell; his voice is now among the voices of the night; but it is still ringing in the ears of him who evoked it, and who fled in terror from the redoubtable presence, and equally redoubtable pikestaff, of Old Hyderabad.